Relly was the Burning Boy. And I guess that made me the Crazy Girl. Because I believed it. I mean, I never once doubted what I saw that day. He was standing in an alley in a cloak of fire. A minute later it was over. He was OK. Totally exhausted, too weak to even talk. But not a burn mark on him. No sign of the flames that had poured out of his body.
I wrapped him up in his coat, and I sat with him a long time, holding on.
Then I got him over to Clinton Avenue and we took the bus back to his house. Late on Sundays there's hardly anybody riding buses. So it was like we had our own private route. The driver was in a trance after going back and forth across the city all day. He didn't even notice Relly had no shoes on. Outside was dark and cold. Inside was too brightly lit. The buzz of the lights hurt Relly. I could feel it. We sat in the very back, huddled together, not saying a word.
He'd tell me when it was the right time. I knew that. I'd find out everything. But riding back home on the bus, we didn't say a word.
Only as I helped him up his steps did I break the silence. "I'll go back and get the gear. Is there anything besides the Strat?"
He shook his head. "It was real, Zee," he said, like he heard the question without me saying it out loud. "It's real. It happened before. And it'll happen again."
"Yeah, I know. So I'm not insane."
He shrugged. "Sane or insane. Doesn't make much difference now. It's real."